Anaxagoras says, an eye is called an eye not because you can see it, but because it can see you.


The End of the Moon é um projeto de residência de Laurie Anderson na NASA. A música/performance pode ser escutada a partir do minuto 16:50 (dividido em duas partes) no show gravado pela rádio pública de Nova Iorque em 2006 ( A música é um projeto sempre em andamento:

The End Of The Moon

And so because it was spring and because I had avoided it for so long, I set off lowering myself down into a hole and then out onto the wide plain. A sky full of autumn. And everything shaking and long blue shadows. I carry a photograph of a city. A car comes driving out of a film headlights blinking and goes right past. Hello. Excuse me. Can you tell me where I am?

You know, I have to say that I’ve really started to hate symmetry. I mean, it’s so simpleminded. I mean, they’re just like visual rhymes. So, there’s one thing over here and then a very similar thing right over there and so they balance and then that’s supposed to make them good somehow. And then there are the things that are tipped way off balance. There’s a big thing over here and just a dot over there, kind of Zen approach to scale. Although I have to say I find that kind of perfection really kind of claustrophobic, really. I mean, couldn’t someone just come in and mass these stuffs a up a bit? And then, there’s the Haiku, practically the shortest poetic form ever invented. Clocking in in just seventeen syllables. And Haikus are usually just about a single thing. One time, one place and sometimes they’re quite pale, they describe the weather or flowers or air. But my favorite Haiku goes like this:

“Spring thaw

A coughing fit


The puppeteer”

I mean, that’s amazing, you know, you’re right there suddenly with the.. uhuh.. with the coughing, you know, the puppeteer, the whole thing.

You know, to make art, we say today, it helps to have an audience. “But what kind?” I said, burning my fingers on the hot toast. “Well, it starts out in your living room and you do puppet shows for your parents and their friends and maybe later in life you’re going to perform in some big opera house and later still you’re back in your own living room, still talking to whoever is still there.”

You know, I was watching TV when I was in Turkey and it was a music show and there was an orchestra playing but they didn’t cut away between pieces. They just kept the cameras rolling while the orchestra was tuning up for the next piece. And because this wasn’t always the most interesting shot the cameras then would turn around and roll around the audience. And people are milling around out there and waiting. But what was amazing was that almost everyone in the audience had Uzis and Aka47s. And they’re standing around with these giant guns, like, pointing them in various directions, every time they turn and bumped into each other. And that was just what they did in this particular Turkish city. Now, obviously, for performers this is like their worst nightmare. A heavily armed audience, a lull in the action and anything might happen. “Keep it moving” we say in America , where it’s really more about the audience and what they want and when they want it. And what they want is mostly more shows and more of the real stuff of life. Life the way it could be, should be. Some time. Somewhere.

And it was such a huge hole, right in the middle of the city. And so the architects were summoned. “How about a hill of beans?”, says one. “No, how about something very tall? A very large number and terrific height that will stagger the senses. Maybe even impersonating people. “What about a slab of cheese?”, says the other, “something pure, organic. Something everyone will like”. “Well, a slab of cheese or a donut. Something with thoughts of happier times. Just don’t make it look abandoned. Or like it’s been irradiated. Another large and noble plaza to remind us of our insignificant size. How about a fancy banister? One that goes all the way to Mars. Or one made of teardrops and spilled ink”. And there it was: meaning was hanging by a thread. Like a lynched man, swinging precariously and holding something that was way, way, way too heavy to bear. And so a door cracks open and we walk into another time.


You know sometimes, using the wrong sense can really work. I mean… you can read with your hands, hear with your feet. But somethings are next to impossible. You know, you just can’t do them. Like… trying to smell with eyes. You know sometimes, get a headache, is like you having a smaller head inside your regular head and everytime you turn your head the smaller head inside turns just a little bit later, like there is a lack time.

And of course in general your head is never the size you think it is. Let’s say you’re brushing your teeth or shaving and you’re in front of the mirror. And you think you head is more or less, let’s say, life size. Looks pretty much like a real head. But next time reach out your hand and measure this picture. Put your hand on the mirror and you’ll see that your head is so tiny. It’s only half the size. A real surprise. I mean, you’re brushing the teeth of a shrunken head. It’s amazing you can do this kind of detailed work, really. Or, you know, it’s like shaving the face of a small puppet.


Anaxagoras says, an eye is called an eye not because you can see it, but because it can see you.

And I myself am actually only 63 inches long. And many things are easily lost in this very large world of many miles and thousands of miles. And something just 63 inches long can disappear so easily. Slip under the waves. Slide behind a cabinet.

And so, good night. Sleep tight. Eight hours of this every night. Pleading, sweating, running across dark lawns. Seeing dead people rise up with their crystal eyes, jeweled and blinking. And, oops, I’m here again. Hoof beats, a deserted playground and a two headed calf, wigs off. And it cries out. Hello. Hello. And I’m beating people up with an old slab of whale blubber with the fin still sticking to it. Now, they call this… sleep. “So hey” they say, “good morning! How’d you sleep? Good morning. How you doin’?” And you say “Oh, fine. Everything’s fine”.

Our life, as a team sport. Life this something that uncoils inside us. A world that comes in through your skin. And dogs hobbling across the beach to a brownish yellow sea. A sick monkey. The food, however, is delicious. I have to say that much at least. And animals popping out of their holes for a last look before the winter snows. Lights out.

Come here baby. You know I love you. But when the tears finally stream from both my eyes they fall from my left eye because I love you. And they fall from my right eye because I cannot bear you.

You know, sometimes

I think

I can smell


Post enviado por Gabriel Kogan


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